


Slow Motion

by 90angle



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: "OCs" in question are just jeremy's parents, A lot actually, Blonde Jeremy Fitzgerald, Fluff, M/M, Michael-centric, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Limited, Sickfic, Swearing, but not like super fluffy, should i write blonde or blond? actually i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27913024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/90angle/pseuds/90angle
Summary: You’re not the only one with a life full of regrets, so find some solace in that at least.-Michael was asked to drop something off at Jeremy's house.
Relationships: Michael Afton/Jeremy Fitzgerald
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	Slow Motion

Jeremy's house was nice. As a matter of fact, Jeremy's house was  _ really  _ nice, and Michael felt just as much out of place standing in front of it. The setting sun cast an orange glow across the town, the already orange leaves of the trees nearby glowing as if they'd been lit on fire. A cool wind occasionally shook them and made them appear like dancing embers. It would be all the more pleasant if it didn't run chills through him and also nearly blow the contents of the file he was holding out of his hands more than once.

Michael, on request of Jeremy's teacher, had been asked to drop it off here. Jeremy had gotten sick and wouldn't be attending class for the next week or so, and so the packet was compiled to keep him busy. It was honestly ridiculous that he'd been chosen for it—in his mind, there were people who were much closer to Jeremy who were capable of doing this task and also not feeling deeply uncomfortable during it.

It was a hard thing to admit, but Jeremy made him feel weird in an indescribable way. Or rather, he sort of had the words to describe it. Just not the nerve to say it. It felt like Jeremy would somehow find out and hate him if he ever even so much as thought about it. Which is why he wouldn't. He wouldn't even spend too much time in there. He'd go in, drop the file off, go back home, and pretend he never set foot inside Jeremy's place.

As he was considering ringing the doorbell a second time, the front door finally opened. Mr. Fitzgerald peered through the crack at who it was, before fully swinging the door open.

"Oh, Michael! Glad to see you!" The older man grinned, before taking notice of the folder in his hands and reading the print the teacher had written on it. Jeremy's full name, the teacher's name, and some stuff about its contents. "You dropping that off for Jeremy?"

"Yeah. Mrs. Rosales wanted me to drop it off here for him. Homework."

"Awfully kind of you to do that," Mr. Fitzgerald said.  _ God, this man was just nothing but sunshine and rainbows, _ Michael idly thought. He resisted the urge to bask in the adult's praise of him. Check that off on the list of things that deeply disturbed him about Jeremy and his entire family. Jeremy's father moved out of the way before continuing to speak. "Come on in! Jeremy's in his room upstairs." Michael walked inside, stopping in his tracks after a few steps into the foyer. It smelled nice, like something was in the process of being cooked. Herbs and spices and all that. "Donna's almost done with making soup, if you want to stay long enough to have some." Michael paused.

"...No thanks, I think I'll just drop this off and then go home." he finally managed to reply.

"Well, our house is your house if you'd ever want to stop by again for the sake of it. I know Jeremy loves seeing you." Mr. Fitzgerald said, punctuating this with a pat to Michael's shoulder before closing the door behind him and disappearing off elsewhere into the house. Michael stood around for a moment, taking in his surroundings.

The inside was nice, too. Anyone else would probably call it quaint, but Michael thought it was nice. Certainly better than his. Maybe that was the pleasant atmosphere of it, though. Michael could faintly hear Mrs. Fitzgerald talking to her husband off in the kitchen. Although he couldn't make out what they were saying, he could rather easily understand the tone. Light-hearted, relaxed. Etcetera. Michael never got that in his house. Calm conversation between his parents, that is.

Dismissing the thoughts and focusing on his task instead, Michael found his way to the stairs and ascended them.

* * *

The door to Jeremy's room was completely nondescript, yet Michael had trouble working up the nerve to finally open it. His hand was already on the doorknob, but something about actually turning it and setting his foot inside a friend's room made his heart race a little.

It's fine, right? It's not like he was breaking and entering, he was given permission to come in here. The notion that it was wrong to was ridiculous, and he knew that, but it was still hard to shake. Michael grit his teeth, forced his slack hand to grip down on the knob, and twisted it.

A gust of cool air immediately hit him when the door fully opened. The room's shades were dimmed, the lights being off. His eyes, still slowly adjusting to the darkness, could slightly make out Jeremy's blond hair laying on his pillow and the outline of his body covered by his blanket. God _ damnit, _ he's sleeping and I woke him up and he's going to be mad at me—

The thought was cut off by a very much awake Jeremy rolling over and squinting at him. Wow, he looked terrible. His face was incredibly pale, for the first part, asides from the light sickly flush across it. "Michael?" Jeremy said, his voice worn out and hoarse. He squinted through the light to look up at him. "Jeez, can you please learn to knock?"

"Sorry." Michael sheepishly mumbled, already feeling blood rush to his face. Jeremy rolled his eyes, before motioning to Michael to come into the room. He hesitated after setting a foot in and desperately willed his body to continue despite his thoughts screaming that he wanted to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

"Close the door, too." Michael did so, and the room immediately went pitch black. Only the glow of tinted-blue light trying to get through the blinds was visible. That is, until Jeremy fumbled with his nightstand and pulled the chain on his lamp. It gave off a warm glow that dissipated the further out into the room the light got, slightly illuminating the various He-Man and band posters over his bed. "That?" Jeremy said rather bluntly, staring up at him from his position on his bed and pointing to the folder.

"Uh, Mrs. Rosales wanted me to give you your week's homework." Jeremy made an extremely loud groan, followed by a softer and more involuntary pained one. After recovering from straining his throat, he leaned forward and patted the seat of the chair next to his bed as if… requesting Michael to sit? The realization dawned on Michael that Jeremy was assuming Michael was going to stay here. "Wait wait wait, I'm just dropping this off and then going—"

"Please?" Jeremy said, his voice barely above a whisper. Michael felt something twist in his chest in response to the pleading expression that was being made at him. Something he was insistent on just being a very, very strong but pleasant-feeling hatred of Jeremy's ability to make cute faces. Michael sighed.

"Sure, fine. Whatever you want. I'm not staying here forever, though." he responded, giving in and sitting down. Michael handed off the folder to Jeremy, who made a pleased hum in response to Michael's answer. "...I really don't get why she didn't just ask Fritz to do this, he's closer with you than I am."

"Diabetic," Jeremy said, cutting him off. "He's diabetic." He continued talking through Michael's silence, only pausing to flip through the folder and examine the little note clipped to the packet. "If he got really sick, it'd be terrible. I took medicine yesterday, but still... Besides, I'm kind of glad it was you that showed up."

"Oh." Michael responded. He genuinely was not expecting any of that, to be honest. Silence fell over the two aside from the sound of Jeremy rustling through the many bundled-together papers and looking over them.

"I don't wanna do this." he eventually mumbled, after thoroughly looking over the assignments. Jeremy reached past Michael for an orange prescription bottle on his nightstand, lifted it up, and set the folder under it. He collapsed back into his pillows and sighed.

"Does that mean I can leave, then?" Michael asked, probably in a bit too much earnest. Jeremy gave him a perplexed look in response. "I mean, I thought you were keeping me in case you needed help."

"I know this stuff, I'm just super fucking lazy." Jeremy said, laughing. Then going into a muffled coughing fit. He sighed. "I'm not keeping you because I need help, I'm keeping you because I'm lonely." There came that prickle of warmth to Michael's face again, except worse and accompanied with a different sensation than embarrassment. Why was it so different when Jeremy said these things to him when it was fine for anyone else? Why did his heart get all fast at being in Jeremy's bedroom?

"That's…" Michael trailed off. So many words felt like they wanted to crawl out of Michael's throat, but he instead was silently grateful for the dimness of the room. If Jeremy could properly see how red his face was, Michael would just die right then and there. "I didn't know you liked me that much."

"What's not to like about you?" Jeremy said, suddenly making remarkably intense eye contact. He looked… indescribable. Like he was trying to say something without saying it. Michael almost thought something without thinking it again, but dismissed the idea. There's no way. There's literally no way. However, something regarding that train of thought must've shown on his face, because Jeremy broke eye contact shortly after and closed himself back off. "...You're my friend, Michael."

"Right, yes. Friends." Michael avoided looking at Jeremy and settled for staring at his own hands in his lap. How foolish to think Jeremy considered him as anything more than a friend. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael could see him fidgeting with his hair. "So, um… Is there something specific you want to have me in here for?"

Jeremy sat upright. "Oh, yeah. There is. Before I forget, I want to show you this." He pulled the blanket off of himself, and—wait wait wait wait hold on a second, why the fuck are his pajamas cute? Michael hadn't noticed before, considering the blanket was overtop most of his body, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wish he caught a glimpse of them sooner. What looked like dark blue fabric traced his back, clinging to it from what Michael could assume was feverish sweating. That wasn't even mentioning Jeremy's legs being visible almost in full, the bottom half of the ensemble stopping at the mid thigh. Again with that rush of thoughts over completely benign things.

Another thing Michael failed to notice was the television set that Jeremy was now in front of until it lit up the room and started emitting a high-pitched whine. The glow from it illuminated Jeremy from behind, making him look like some kind of angel. "Are you just gonna sit there staring at nothing, or will you come over here?" Jeremy asked, snapping Michael out of his thoughts.

Michael hesitated, before getting up and moving to where Jeremy was sitting in front of the television. There was a Nintendo Entertainment System hooked up to the television, Jeremy now sifting through a pile of cartridges for it. "Do you just have a TV permanently in your room or something?"

"Nope. My Dad moves it up here for me when I get sick and we don't have someone staying over." Jeremy responded.

"Oh, cool. I was about to call you bourgeois and suggest that you get guillotined." Michael said, poker-faced. Jeremy stared at him for a good few seconds before bursting into laughter. Which gave way to him coughing into his elbow once more, and letting out an extended whine when the fit finished. Michael's joke was an attempt at dispelling the lingering aura the room now had, and it sort of worked, he thought, but it just personally made him feel stranger to see Jeremy so…  _ so… _ "Are you sure you should be out of bed?"

"Are you my mom or something?" Jeremy scoffed. Michael stammered about something he himself wasn't even sure of for a good second, before Jeremy gave him a dismissive wave of the hand. "I'm gonna be fine. Chill out." He turned his attention back to the small stack of games laying in front of it, seeming to be looking for something in particular.

Michael sighed. "If you start feeling worse, don't come crying to me about it." He moved over to the other side of Jeremy's bed, sitting down on the floor next to it and leaning against where the frame and the mattress met. "What are you looking for?"

"What  _ was  _ I looking for, more like. Found it." Jeremy held aloft a large, grey cartridge. The sticker on the side of it was black, and had an image of a man in red and white clothing in front of a blue brick wall on it. "Super Mario Brothers," Jeremy said as Michael read the name. "Dad got it pretty recently, but I sort of wanted you to get the chance to play it. You might find it fun." Jeremy slotted it into the game console and the screen of the television changed, instead displaying a menu and playing some music. He grabbed a controller and handed it off to Michael, scooting up next to him where he sat.

"What exactly do I do?" Jeremy sitting so close to him was frying Michael's fucking brain like an egg on a hot sidewalk. It'd probably be easier on him if they were actually touching, if he could justify his racing thoughts in some way or another. It was really pathetic, in Michael's mind, to go this crazy over a few inches of distance. As if reading him, Jeremy put his hands over Michael's. Tingling ran up his spine, his entire body but especially his face feeling like it was on fire.  _ Fuck. _

"You press the start button to start, which is here," Jeremy said, guiding Michael's thumb over to the button and putting enough pressure on it to force him to press it. The game started, leaving the protagonist in a colorful 2d landscape filled with bricks. "Cross-shaped joypad to move around, ''A'' button to jump, and ''B'' button to uh… I forget, and I don't know where the guide is. Just jump on enemies to kill them and you're fine." Jeremy mumbled, pulling his hands off of Michael's and rubbing at his eyes.

"...Okay." Michael said, his mouth having gone dry. Jeremy leaned back and watched the screen as Michael played. He was certain he was doing poorly, but Jeremy wasn't saying anything about it. Maybe he didn't have the voice to, or maybe he was getting tired. If it wasn't to quietly judge him, Michael didn't care whatever the reason it was for Jeremy to be silent.

Michael had gotten close to the end of the level when Jeremy started drifting off.

"You jump at that," Jeremy said, shaking himself awake long enough to advise Michael on what to do with the flagpole. Michael followed suit, a little tune playing as Mario—the player character's name, Michael figured—walked off triumphantly into the castle. Some fireworks exploded afterwards. "Congrats on not dying, by the way. I thought you'd get fucked up by the Koopa shells, but I guess not."

"Thanks." Michael said, and then paused upon realizing how tired Jeremy looked. "Aren't you tired? I can go home if you're falling asleep. The sun's probably set by now."

"Mm-hm. Besides, you look like you're having fun." Michael was, but that's not like it was any of Jeremy's business. It was nice, sitting with him and getting to do these things. Michael sort of wondered if Jeremy was this pleasant around all of his friends. Some kind of jealous pang resonated deep in his chest at the thought of someone being in Jeremy's room with him and sitting together this close.

"If you're sure, but I'm going home after the next level." Michael said, resuming his gameplay. After a cutscene played out where Mario walked into a pipe, he found himself in a dark blue underground passageway. Pretty similar to the last level, but with a different color palette and a ceiling over the landscape this time. Jeremy watched, once again not saying much of anything. Michael continued to hope that meant he was doing okay.

This time, however, Jeremy dozed back off midway through the level. Michael committed himself to the idea of beating this level as quickly as possible so he could wake Jeremy up, get him back in bed, and then go home. Or, had committed to it, past tense. A big issue with his plan was that he didn't factor Jeremy unconsciously choosing Michael's shoulder as a good spot to lean his head against.

The palpitations were worse than ever before. Michael could hardly breathe, his heart racing and his hands becoming trembly and clammy. All over what, Jeremy falling asleep on him? Sure, his face was really soft, and his arms had sort of coiled themselves around Michael's bicep, but that didn't mean anything.  _ There was no way, _ had become a bit of a mantra for Michael at this point, almost in sync with the sound of his pulse pounding in his skull. He mouthed it repeatedly, as if saying it a hundred times could grant a person's wish. He didn't want to put words to what he'd wish for if it did.

Michael needed to move. If not for his own sake, but to prevent the television screen from burning in. But it felt like the weight of the entire world was on him, even if it were just Jeremy's cheek at present. There's something profound he felt like he could say with that. It caught in his throat, just like the million other things he could've said this evening.

Coming to a resolution, he gently nudged Jeremy off of him and fumbled for what he hoped was the power button on the game console. The television was next, making a satisfying _ fwip  _ when it shut off. That seemed to be what woke Jeremy up again this time, as he was once again sitting upright and rubbing at his face. Michael was silently pleased that it wasn't him shoving Jeremy off that did it.

"Mm…" Jeremy didn't look like he was aware of what he did in his sleep, but then again Jeremy was remarkably good at masking himself. Michael knew this better than anyone else. "Did I fall asleep on you again?" He wrinkled his face up and blinked a few times for good measure.

"Yeah, I'm going home now. It was nice hanging out, but my Father would freak the hell out at me if I kept myself any longer." He refused to meet Jeremy's sleepy gaze and hoped that he wouldn't notice it. Michael extended a hand and Jeremy took it, using it as leverage to pull himself up off the floor. "Get in bed. Staying up won't help you get any better."

"Whatever." Jeremy flopped onto his bed and then properly tucked himself in, the springs jolting a little in response. "Goodnight, Michael."

"Goodnight." Michael opened the door and leaned over to switch off Jeremy's lamp for him, but Jeremy caught his wrist instead. Michael's breath hitched.

"You promise you're going to come back at some point, though?" he said, with his face in one of his pillows. Michael couldn't tell what expression he was making. "To spend time with me, I mean."

"...Sure." Jeremy made a muffled noise that sounded a bit like "okay", and released Michael's hand. He patted around on the nightstand for the lamp's base, fingers passing uncomfortably close to knocking over his medication, and then slid his hand up the body of it to locate the chain. Once he'd found it, Jeremy gave it a firm tug. The room went back to being in almost total darkness, just like when Michael first came here.

After lingering for a moment, Michael exited the room and shut the door behind him. He breathed out a sigh of relief, taking a few steps back towards the stairs before involuntarily crumpling to the floor. What the hell was any of that? All of his interactions with Jeremy were a total blur. He racked his brain for something, anything that wasn't noticing things like the curve of Jeremy's spine, or how soft his hands were, or the thing his mouth did when he smiled. Michael came up with nothing.

...Evil house, filled with disturbing people. If he had a few extra screws loose, Michael would've thought someone put a curse on this place. Maybe he could still force himself into believing it anyways: it'd be much easier than confronting the truth about why it felt so strange to be in here. Willing his legs to go back to being stable enough to avoid falling down the stairs, Michael descended the steps.

* * *

"Oh, hello Michael! I'm  _ so _ sorry I couldn't properly say hi earlier." Michael had hoped Jeremy's parents would've just disregarded him and let him slip out of their house quietly, but that seemed not to be the case. Michael stood up a bit straighter, dropping his hand away from the doorknob.

"Hi, Mrs... Fitzgerald." Michael said, trying to not let the exhaustion of this evening slip into his voice. "Lovely to have been here." She was sitting on a couch visible from the foyer off through a doorway to what Michael assumed to be the living room, reading some kind of magazine .

"It's late, would you like Douglas to drive you home? I can go get him if you'd want." she said with a pleasant smile. Accursed house, accursed house, accursed _ house— _

"No, I can manage on my own. Thank you for offering, though." Michael slowly returned back to the door, putting his hand on the knob once again, but he could see Mrs. Fitzgerald frowning slightly out of the corner of his vision.

"Well, try not to freeze out there. It's quite cold. Have a lovely evening, Michael." She finally took her eyes off of him and returned to her reading.

"I'll try not to," he responded a bit dryly, unlocking the door and slipping through it as fast as he physically could without her noticing his desperation to leave already. The door clicked locked behind him, leaving him alone with just his thoughts. A deep blue sky was cast above, remnants of light magenta and orange peering through on the horizon. Much different from earlier and its golden, flame-like colors. Stars flickered above, faintly illuminating the patchwork of hues. It was pretty. And incredibly cold.

Michael began his walk home, trying not to think about what could've happened had Jeremy been less sick, or if it had been earlier in the day. Would he have stayed? For an extra hour? Several hours? Overnight? The last time they shared a bed together was torture, Michael remembering it rather vividly. Or, it wasn't like it was  _ that _ bad. The problem was that he liked it way too much.

His issue with Jeremy was liking everything about him way too much, in fact. He'd realized it while they were sitting together on the floor of his room and pushed the thought away in the moment, but was now turning it over in his head more and more as the distance between him and the house grew.

Jeremy's house was nice. As a matter of fact, everything about Jeremy was nice, from that weird thing his mouth does when he smiles to the way he knits his hands together when he's nervous. Michael just didn't know how to tell him that, or where to even begin with telling him in the first place. The wind still blew just as hard as it was blowing earlier, but that didn't matter anymore. Michael's thoughts kept him warm.

**Author's Note:**

> (This fic has gone on for about 20 minutes, any word on how long before you kick the bucket?)
> 
> well, i know when that is for my laptop's keyboard--about a year or so. long story short, a key snapped in half on me and now i have to get the whole thing replaced because capitalism is a perfect and well functioning system. i mostly wrote this on my phone to make myself feel better, so i hope it was as calming to read for you as it was calming for me to write.
> 
> the song that this fic is named after is called SLoWMoTIoN / すろぉもぉしょ (literally: suroomooshon) if you care, it holds no relevancy other than being about a sick person and me having listened to a lot of pinocchio-p at the time of writing. i'm a little on edge over having to copy and paste the letter "t" a million times for this description though, so i'll close it off here. thanks for your attention.


End file.
